


The Altar of his King

by Jerevinan



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Blindfolds, Bondage, Dom!Noctis, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sensory Deprivation, Sub!Ignis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 12:40:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15606495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jerevinan/pseuds/Jerevinan
Summary: Ignis can feel the wrinkles of silk fabric tickling against the backs of his eyelids as it is fitted onto his head. It isn’t necessary to wear it, but it aesthetically pleases Noctis, and the feeling of it taunt across Ignis’ eyes is pleasant, even soothing. Equally soft is the scarf wound around his wrists, where Noctis left kisses and sealed them between the material and skin afterward.





	The Altar of his King

**Author's Note:**

> I made Ignis blind for this one. I wanted sensory deprivation and blindfolds with Ignis still blind. Thank you to IseliaDragonwill for letting me ramble about my sub!Ignis needs and encouraging this fic to happen. You're the best!
> 
> (Also shout out to Isel for being an amazing writer and artist as well~)

“Do you trust me?”

While Noctis’ words are a husky whisper, Ignis hears him loud and clear in the quiet of the bedroom. 

“Yes, your Majesty.” Ignis cannot use that title without the corners of his lips turning up into a smile. 

A finger dances from bare shoulder to bare shoulder before pushing him down to his knees on the carpet. Firm, kingly. Everything Ignis has ever wanted—and more—from Noctis. This is the man he has sworn fealty to, as well as his hand in marriage. 

Ignis can feel the wrinkles of silk fabric tickling against the backs of his eyelids as it is fitted onto his head. It isn’t necessary to wear it, but it aesthetically pleases Noctis, and the feeling of it taunt across Ignis’ eyes is pleasant, even soothing. Equally soft is the scarf wound around his wrists, where Noctis left kisses and sealed them between the material and skin afterward. 

Ignis rests his fists together between his thighs. The lingering scent of Noctis' cologne draws a sharp inhale of breath from him. A thumb loops behind the knot of the blindfold and tugs it forward, and Ignis gasps out from surprise. 

Teeth nibble at his exposed neck as fingers curl into his hair and around the knot. Ignis cranes his neck in invitation. Light bruises will dapple his skin, and the only regret Ignis feels is that he won’t be the one to see them. The feeling sends a warm curl spiraling from his neck down to his groin, stirring his cock. 

Noctis withdraws, cool air dancing around the heat of their love in the place where he stood only seconds ago. But before Ignis can protest, a foot gently nudges against his chest and sends him tipping back onto well-placed pillows across the carpet. His erection tents his trousers as he falls. 

Toes knead him teasingly through his pants, and Ignis rotates his hips to roughly grind against the foot in need. Noctis applies a little more pressure. Enough weight that it startles a choking gasp out of Ignis. 

“Noctis…” 

“Hmm?”

“Your Majesty,” corrects Ignis, his voice thick. Never has he said it more than in the bedroom when they’re alone—just as Noctis likes it.

“Yours and yours alone,” teases Noctis, who finishes kneading Ignis with his foot and lowers next to him on the ground. Fingers persuade a tricky button from its hole on Ignis’ trousers, and soon the zipper is jerked down. The same hand explores beneath the clothing. One finger gently grazes the underside of his cock. Each touch is modified to be light or rough depending on Ignis’ reaction. And _oh_ , does he react—feverish in his ache for the closeness of his husband, who he has pledge his love for so defiantly to the heavens on more than one occasion. 

And here, in this room, they commit to one another. Two parts so in synch with one another’s wishes that the very title of “Majesty” leaves them both breathless with anticipation. 

Noctis removes Ignis’ clothing—first the pants, and then the shirt. Button by button, though the binding on Ignis’ wrist makes it impossible to free him of the sleeves. A palm caresses the skin from the clavicle to the scarred planes of Ignis’ abdomen. Kisses and licks are left to invite the cool air against bare, wet skin. 

“Your Majesty…” 

Noctis hushes his following moans with a kiss to the lips. As they press closer to one another, the cap of the lube snaps open. 

“Go on,” encourages Ignis. “Do go on.”

“I’m busy admiring you,” says Noctis warmly. “Is it wrong to stare?”

Ignis once thought himself moderately attractive in the past, but then he became what he considers as devastatingly scarred. Though he will never see the scars, he always imagines they must be unsightly. All that matters in the end, however, is if Noctis loves him. Even if he’s ugly or beautiful, he simply wants to be by his husband’s side. Not that that stops Ignis from shifting as he knows Noctis’ eyes are upon him, wondering just what he must look through Noctis’ eyes—hair disheveled, shirt pooled to the ground around him, lips wet with their saliva. 

“You’re always beautiful,” says Noctis as he eases his lubed fingers into Ignis. 

“I’m sure you’re a handsome sight…” Ignis adjusts so that he can lift his hands to Noctis’ face and trace one thumb down his nose, across his cheek, along his jawline. It gives him an idea of what Noctis looks like. Broader, older, maybe even a little grayer. His pupils will have dilated in the dark and from his lust, too, shining bright with a shade of blue Ignis memorized from more innocent times.

“I love you,” says Noctis, taking hold of the scarf around Ignis’ wrists and kissing each finger tantalizingly while his other hand continues to work lubricant well into Ignis.

“I love y—oooh, Noctis, _please_.” 

Noctis obliges by releasing Ignis’ hands and lifting his calves onto his shoulders. Times like this make Ignis wish for his eyesight, so that he might gaze lovingly at the face of his husband. There are no words as Noctis enters him, only the stillness of the moment before, and then the tide of satisfaction as Ignis feels his king penetrate him. His fingernails dig deep into the wrist bindings, lips parting with a fresh gasp that breaks the quiet. The pleasure rides through him in ripples, the roar of his own blood only rivaled by the slapping of their skin and his love’s grunts. He can feel Noctis’ hair tickling against his legs with each thrust. 

Every little ripple builds to a wave, until it crashes into both of them. Ignis comes, feeling trails of semen land across his skin. Noctis bucks one last time and grips his thighs hard before collapsing onto him, his own spent cock slipping out of Ignis. His ear presses against Ignis’ heart before a palm joins it.

That’s how they remain for a few minutes, focused on each other’s breathing. It grounds Ignis. The stillness surrounds them once again.

Then the ties slowly are undone—Noctis works off the wrist bindings and the blindfold, and they sit together, Noctis in the crook of Ignis’ arms. Nothing is said. Nothing is needed to be said. Every night is sacred, and Ignis worships at the altar of his king.


End file.
